Cleaning Service
by Psycho Llama
Summary: To be admitted as personal to Atlantis you either need a doctorate or you need to be the best sharpshooting marine around. Or, you’re one of the ‘hospitality crew’. Yep, that’s Joan Caxton with rubber gloves on. Michael and OC Chapter3 now with extra!
1. Tan Gang

Disclaimer: If I owned it, why would I be writing fanfiction?

Cleaning Service

PG13 (T)

To be admitted as personal to Atlantis you either need a doctorate with a world-famous reputation, or you need to be the best sharp-shooting marine in your own sweet part of planet Earth. Or, you're one of the 'hospitality crew'. Yep, that's me with rubber gloves on.

The scientists see it below them to be the ones polishing the floors and washing linen, but who in their right mind would leave sanitation up to a bunch of army knuckle-heads?

"Do you think we should put one of those dinky little mints on his pillow?" Amcotts asked, sorting her pile into lights and darks. I added some 'wonderful-fantastic-lemon-power' washing soda into the Earth-made machine and fiddled with the settings.

"I'd rather spend the government's money getting something that doesn't smell of _lemon_ or _pine_," I replied flatly, "I'm on window duty this afternoon, anyway. The interior decoration of 'Michael's new room' will be entirely up to _you_."

"Window duty?"

"One of the southern towers that got scorched when the wraith attacked. Upstairs want to keep everything as bright and shiny as the way they found it," I mimicked brightly.

"God, I'm glad I don't have your job," Amcotts laughed, setting the other washing machine to spin.

"Speaking of jobs, the head Chef? He's got a doctorate."

Amcotts laughed out loud, moving to the next machine and loading, "How do you get a doctorate in food preparation?"

"I have no idea, but I keep getting the feeling I'm going to be replaced by a person with a doctorate in _oven-cleaning_."

"No, no. They're all busy fighting the Ori back home," Amcotts chuckled, "Besides, Caxton. We'll get off-world _one_ day. Remember that time Edgerton went to that planet with the… what was it, green plague? Red plague? Blue plague?"

"That's all Edgerton _ever_ talks about," I checked my chrono and zipped the collar of the fitted tan coveralls right up, "Almost time for lunch, are we done here?"

"Yep. All systems are flow."

"A-ha, you're hilarious. How 'bout a masters in bad jokes?" Fitted coveralls in highly invisible tan, you see, were just great for pretending you're not there. Hell, it'd be awkward acknowledging the cleaners, wouldn't it? Well, for Major Lorne, anyway. I swear; he must bring back a bucket full of mud every time he goes out on a mission.

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It was windy. _Horribly_ windy. The bucket of soapy water attached to my harness was jiggling about and throwing me off-balance as I abseiled down the battle-scorched windows with window-wiper in hand. The sea was hissing and rushing with high crests smoothing themselves against the city, but I couldn't hear seagulls. A wave of salty sea breeze wafted past with a wave of, of what, homesickness? Hell, I missed the sound of those little flying rats. Just the sound of water hitting rock seemed… alien, without sounds of life—F!

I didn't crack the glass… no. That would be bad. My nose, on the other hand… "Shi.. shi, ow hell." Thankfully I'd caught the bleeding with my hand before it could hit my coveralls. "Mighty LORD!" I swore. I couldn't keep cleaning the window in this wind, and my hand was getting messy.

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"You okay?"

"Foot slipped and a southerly smacked me into the window." Yes. Better me than the window, thank _you_. "Bleeding stopped." _And the window-cleaner is burning my face_.

"Good. Dr Beckett needs some hands in the isolation room, that way."

Oh my _God_.

"Just in time lass, can you give me a hand with these?" Beckett asked, indicating… the wraith? Oh wait, the linen he was lying on.

"Sure," I grimaced. _How?_

"Others… others will come…" the wraith wheezed, eyes flicking about the room, hazy as through fog.

"He's pretty sedate. All we need to do is lift him onto the stretcher and change the sheets. They're not too bad, but a couple of days old," Beckett explained, smiling. I smiled back, although a little strained. He shrugged, "Thought it'd be nice for a clean start. Start with the basic humanities and work our way up."

_What a good opportunity for an escape, _so_ glad that there's only one guard at the door_. When we grabbed the wraith—Michael—to dump him on the stationed stretcher, the bastard almost threw me off.

"You will die a _PAINFUL_ death!"

"Funny, I think that every time I'm called out to clean Ronon's quarters," I snarled, fixing the manacles on the stretcher as the good Doctor shot him with another dose of something powerful, grinning appreciatively at the joke. The wraith passed into unconsciousness and I went back to strip the isolation bed.

Beckett changed the pillowcase while I was tucking the corners of the sheets, making small talk about the city. "That is a nasty wee bruise on your nose," he commented, "When did that happen? Must've been just before you got here."

"Hit a window. Does it really look so impressive?"

The doctor smiled, "Oh, it'll hang around for a while. Bigger than anything your friend Edgerton got when he was helping us out."

"Should we move the wraith back?"

"Ah, now. His name is officially Michael Kenmore, now. A lieutenant, too."

I nodded, dimly, "You gave him a haircut." Ah, the deep and thoughtful observations of a genius. Look, less hair! _And he's in scrubs._

He still had pallid, waxen-looking skin and those odd slits on either cheek. Dr Beckett hoisted the wraith up from under the arms and I took the legs. "RR-AAAARGH!" Halfway through that roar something resembling a foot obscured my view and the ceiling spun down before me. The blackness dissolved out of my vision as I rolled over onto my side. Beckett was crouched over me and—uck! Shining a light in my eye. I could hear Michael moaning and thrashing weakly against his restraints in the background.

I let out a similar-sounding groan.

"Do you need to go to the infirmary?" Goddamn, _the throbbing! _

"Would I get the rest of the day off if I didn't?"

"Sure, sure." I was left in the room, guard at the door as Dr Beckett went back to the infirmary to work on something else. Oh well, better get onto drying and folding Wednesday's load, but _slowly_.

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I peered groggily into the mirror, flicking on all possible light sources. The bridge of my nose was huge and purpley, and I knew it wouldn't be visible beneath the mop of black hair but there was a _huge_ knob-like swelling on the back of my head, too. _Thank you, Michael._

I zipped the tan coveralls over my white t-shirt, tenderly pulling my messy hair into a high ponytail before I went to the mess hall for breakfast with the rest of the tan-gang, 4:15am.

"Jesus Christ, Caxton, your _face_—" Edgerton exclaimed. I set my tray down heavily and thumped down on my seat.

"I met Michael."

Amcotts laughed, "I'm really getting him a mint for his pillow now."

"The bruise on the back of my head is Michael. My face was me getting smacked into Atlantis with the wind yesterday. I'll have to finish those windows this morning." Although taking a wraith foot to the jaw… I pulled the jelly closer to me and ignored the toast. It's not called jell-o because it's _mine_. _My_ English-spelling jelly.

"Who's on sterilisation today? New roster's out." Someone from the night shift asked, finishing dinner.

"Fantastic. More good news," I groaned, "Me and Amcotts?" _Window washing will have to wait._

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I wheeled the trolley of sterilised equipment back into the isolation room, noticing how many people were trying to avoid the entire corridor or even the general area. It was before breakfast time, but some doctors didn't sleep too well. Apparently.

"Oh, hello again," Beckett greeted sunnily. Morning person, or caffeine? Probably both. "Ah, thanks for that."

"How's he doing?"

"Well, there's colour in his face now, it's definitely progressing."

"There's more colour in my face, too. I think he's contagious," I muttered, unloading the tools into their proper homes, all clean and untouched by ungloved hands.

"The cartilage that made up those bumpy things on his face is dissolving, too. He won't even have scars when they're done," Beckett reported, "In a few days he'll be out of the isolation room altogether."

"And there's welcome mints on the pillows for when he does," I remarked dryly. I glanced sideways at the slowly transforming wraith. He did look a lot more human, strangely. "You could put him in tan coveralls the way he is and he'd pass for human." I nodded to the doctor, "Good luck with him."

"Gold star for calling Michael a 'him' not an 'it'," Beckett called after me.

"Thank you Dr Beckett." And now on to the next surgical room.

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"Got an interest in nursing, do we?"

"I'm rostered on for 5:00am sterilisation," I explained to the grinning doctor_. No, of course I'm not interested in your little wraith project and coming day after day to see it_, "Had an interest once, though. Didn't pan out."

"Oh?"

Very carefully trying not to breathe over the extremely clean utensils, "I wanted to be a painter but never got accepted into art school."

"Really? Why not?" Beckett went over to check some readings from the jungle of wires and monitors that surrounded the… the newly inaugurated human. His hair had gone darker, turned a sandy brown.

"Couldn't paint."

"Well, I've always wanted to be a doctor, to help people…" he looked down at Michael, a meditative look crossing his face. "Michael's still comatose, but his DNA shows a complete transformation. He might even wake up today."

"Another Michael turning into a white man, eh Doc? Ah well, Have fun."

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White gloves are for sterilisation. Pink gloves are for cleaning. Black gloves… rubbish duty. The only good thing about that was being able to incinerate it with a naquadah powered generator in the containment room afterwards. I probably would have been earlier if I hadn't hung around the isolation room so long. The timetable was designed so that the hospitality crew _never got in the way_.

"Hey, rubbish lady? Excuse me?" _Rubbish lady?_ I wouldn't be surprised if the timetable was designed to keep us away from McKay in particular. I turned my head, holding the full black bag of wasted paper and food wrappers_. Just let me put it in the bin._ He was holding up an apple core with an expectant, 'bring the bin over here?' look on his face. I drew the drawstrings and dumped the spent bag in the metal bin-trolley and stuck a new bag in.

"You're not a little kid any more, Dr McKay, you can put your own rubbish in the bin. And don't throw it because everyone knows what a bad shot you are."

Dr McKay spluttered indignantly, "Hey, you can't talk to me like that!" A terribly heavy silence fell over the lab; people scurrying about near the back of the room and silence.

I straightened my back with a 'crick', "Why, is it a matter of social standing?" I asked levelly.

McKay blanched "Well, yes—" _A matter of principle? It's in my job description? I don't have a doctorate, highness?_ He wasn't near the exit, so I couldn't drop the bin over to him without it looking weak. Condescending, condescending will work.

"Oh you big—" I pursed my lips and dropped the bin beside him. _Insult? Get fired? Not insult? Appear ineloquent and feed his damn ego?_ I shook my head in the most condescending and could-_not_-be-bothered-with-you way. Yeah, that'll teach him. That was so embarrassing. Look irritated and disinterested, not defeated!

Edgerton wasn't so pleased when I turned in that morning.

"You just messed with one of their top-dogs. They're _never_ gonna take you off world now."

I took my frustration out on the interior windows that night, not squeaking them so loudly but rubbing them so clean I'm sure they _hurt_. Revenge for the other day, I suppose. I made quick work of the glass panels of the gateroom balcony; people didn't put their grimy hands on walls as much as doors and windows. Someone else stuck with night duty was downstairs with the echoing humming machine that polished the floors. Sure, Atlantis had its own way of keeping itself clean, but money and janitors are in bigger surplus than ZPM power.

One of the night patrols walked past, one hand on his holster. "Hey Jeff," I smiled. The marine returned the salutation.

The perpetually glowing light of Weir's office exploded into the hallway as her door flung open and she hurried out, one hand on her earpiece. _Working late or starting early?_ I kept my head down, polishing glass and looking invisible.

"Yes Dr Beckett? Good, I'll be there in just a second." Was that Michael waking up, then? He's going to have some bad jet lag. Or Wraith-lag. Species-lag?

Amcotts had 5:00am sterilisation this morning.

"I'll trade you sterilisation for a weeks worth of rubbish duty," I offered, laying my hands on the breakfast/dinner table.

Amcotts looked at me confused, and set down her spoon, "I already have sterilisation."

"Yeah, I know." _Graveyard shift specialty, heated leftovers!_

"Why do you want the 5:00—wait, Michael's awake, isn't he?"

Thank goodness the hall was practically empty, "Yes. Weir got called out to the isolation room by Beckett about an hour and a half ago."

"No."

"No?" I half whined, gripping the table.

"No, no. You have had too much wraith lately, missy. I'd like to see what this Michael guy looks like myself, actually," Amcotts grinned.

"Like he should be on TV," I muttered sourly. _And my head still has a bump on the back of it. Throb. Throb._

Amcotts snorted on her coffee, "I'll give the agents a call next time they're looking for stars in '_Oven cleaners in space_'."

I made a face, "Drink your coffee, Am."

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It was late when I woke. Probably time to go… what was today? Probably checking the generators were working. Rotational jobs were about as much pain trying to remember as the Repetitive Stress Injuries that the organisers were trying to prevent.

Someone was knocking. That's odd, probably what woke me in the first place. Amcotts was on the other side, holding coffee. "Morning," I grunted with some irony, grabbing for the coffee. Amcotts was eating some bread product and trying to talk to me at the same time.

"You have floor polishing tonight, I checked the roster for you," And sipping decaf at the same time, multi-tasking!

I grumbled. "Did you get to see Michael?" _Hot coffee!_

"Yeah. He has muscles. Not a good thing if he… flips. New rule; don't say anything he shouldn't hear _anywhere_. Message passed on from Weir to the mess hall to you," Amcotts informed, swallowing more decaf.

"…Oh right. How long do you think it will last?"

"Last?"

"Well, practically speaking, do you _really_ expect him to grow old and die here? Go back to… home? On earth?"

Amcotts shrugged, "I don't know. Could happen."

My brow line dropped pessimistically, "Come on, Am. Someone will say something."

"With the fear of being held responsible by Dr Weir, _Cax_?"

"You can't expect something not to slip."

"Well, if everyone just keeps their heads on for a couple of weeks we all might just… forget about it?" she suggested, weakly.

"Ronan Dex won't. The local guy with the dreads, you know. He'll go ape shit on him, I swear. I don't know why they decided to keep him. All he does is make mess and start fights."

"Yeah, but he's one of the _'celebrities'_, they'd send whole battalions after him if he went missing."

"And if one of us went missing?"

"'Oh crap, they killed an expendable!'" We both laughed. Hours at the tan-table had brought up a number of group-fantasised circumstances where someone would need one of the hospitality crew off world. It had also brought up discussion on how they'd react if one of us got killed. My favourite had been '_the collapse of the entire Atlantean base because staff shortages meant Major Sheppard's laundry never got done_.'

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I wish the damn polisher wasn't so noisy. The walls of Atlantis were mostly soundproof, but it did wreck the nice silence that settled in the corridors this time of night. I was given one wing of the massive city to do by morning. Just the public areas of frequent use. Thankfully Weir had tried not to spread civilian quarters thinly over large areas, minimising the space that was used a_nd the space that was needed to clean._

It was relaxing work.

Apart from that jarring yelling sound just then.

The polisher's hum faded into a dying whine as I flicked it off, approaching the door. Where was I again? Too bad. I knocked on the door, having to be sure that it wasn't one of the freaky disasters that plague Atlantis. The janitors in the movies all died _ignoring_ the screams, you see.

Footsteps. Michael opened the door. _Oh my freakin' GOD_. I cringed only a little bit, the little throbbing lump on the back of my head coming to attention like a small dog recognising its owner. _Throb, throb, throb._

Keep it professional, don't look suspicious! "Everything alright… sir?" _Sir. What am I, a maid? Well, it's better than 'What's the problem, Michael, monsters hiding under your bed_?'

"Yeah, just… nothing," he rubbed his palm over his forehead, cold sweat? He looked really disturbed.

"Oh, well," I shrugged nervously, "Good—er, have a good night." _Now is the time when you close the door and I go back to my polishing, Michael. Bye!_

"Wait—"

I froze, just a little bit, and turned around again, "Yes?"

He had a curious look on his face; "Do I know you?"

"…_Po_ssibly…" _He says 'did I kick you in the face' and I will—run away very fast._

"Are we friends?" According to Amcotts, that was one of his most popular questions.

"Hah, I'm one of the cleaners. I'm _everyone's_ friend." _No, no humour. Bad Caxton, don't continue the conversation!_

"I'm Michael Kenmore," he grinned, weakly. Something must've freaked him out badly.

"Joan," I reluctantly shook his hand. _Oh God, he could have one of those little life-suckers on his hand! What if he accidentally EATS me? Christ…_

"Something wrong?"

"Uh? Oh, sterile hands. Gotta go wash them again. Rotational jobs mean dirt could be passed on from anywhere. Dr Weir likes us to keep our hands sterile, all the time. Probably should wear gloves, too," I laughed. Only a little bit shaky.

"Oh, sorry."

"No problem, I'm probably not going to get too dirty polishing the floor, eh? Goodnight," I grinned, _only a bit strained_. I turned away, "Don't let the bed bu—oh." _Aw SHIT, Caxton_.

"What?"

_Bed bugs? Bed bugs?_ "…Bed bu…mps bother you. The isolation room has really bumpy mattresses. …Never mind."

"Oh. Uh, thanks. Goodnight."

"Bye." _Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Don't let the BED BUGS BITE? What, humour him on how he's a wraith and doesn't know it? Why don't you just show him Beckett's video recordings for heck's sake!_

I carried on with the polishing, mentally beating it into myself that I. Would. Not. Say. Wraithy. Connotations. To. Michael. _Bad Caxton, very bad_.

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"What's with the sudden blue jello fetish?" Edgerton asked, obligingly handing me another one. I happily took it and shovelled a spoonful into my mouth.

"I am taking a stand once and for all," I announced around my mouthful, "I'm not putting up it any more! I am so _sick_ of being looked down on. Tonight I am making a stand."

"This morning."

"This morning I am making a stand, against social prejudices and… other things," I waved my spoon around in gesture, "By consuming all of this blue jelly before McKay wakes up."

"You do know he will have no clue it was you."

"Here's hoping."

"And no possible _idea_ about your little 'cause'."

"This tastes really good."

"Suppose I'll help you with that cause, then. Mm. Careful about your diet, those things have a lot of sugar in them." _WHAT?_

"Shummup," I frowned. _Bossy_. I could eat jelly all I wanted, right?

Edgerton paced for a while, taking up his own jello raid on the little blue things. He exhaled tersely as he looked at me, very judgemental. Knowing Edgerton, this could be a compliment coming on. The man looked like he ate grass every time he had something pleasant to say. "Do you know how lucky you are?"

How bout no?

"You're giving the whole department a bad name." I watched him, transfixed with curiosity and anger. _What? What?_ "_You_'ve talked to Dr Beckett, even Dr McKay! Hell, next thing you'll probably talk back to _Major John Sheppard_."

"Look, Edgerton, I don't give _who the hell I talk to_. They're just people. People _I_ have to clean up after."

"That's a bit hypercritical of you to say," He made mockeries of my hand movements emphatically, "Do you think you're not see-through, trying to 'eat all of McKay's jello'."

_CLINK_. Anger was constricting my throat into a tight little knot. I croaked, but couldn't answer. My violent setting down of the jelly made that bastard _raise his eyebrows_, as if to prove a point. _What point?!_

"Come on Caxton, can you just put aside your own infatuations and learn a little respect, for the sake of your _coworkers_?"

"_Respect_?" _How can _he_ use _that_ word?_

"Those doctors are all geniuses and the soldiers that lead those expeditions out there are like war heroes. These guys are the best the world has to give and it's about time you treated them like it," I felt like a little kid. So small and _ignorant_. I wanted to kill him. He didn't know what he was talking about.

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I hoped my flushed face looked more grumpy than teetering on the edge of self-pity. I was collecting the rubbish before dawn. Then I would sleep, and be alone. My eyelids felt lined with sandpaper. And I didn't _care_ what Edgerton thought of me. Screw him.

"Hmm."

Lovely, another scientist thinking aloud. They'd probably talk to me about their little problem like some blank reciprocal that wouldn't understand any of it but would be _awed_ by their brilliance. Not that I did understand any of it, but _damn_…

I did my best to ignore them, turning my back on them while I changed the rubbish baggies.

Edgerton was not right. The people here were geniuses, but he was _not_ right. It didn't make any sense for him _to_ be right.

"Don't you ever get tired of that tan coverall?" the voice behind me suddenly questioned. _Sympathy for my cause, and at this hour of the morning?_ Unfortunately I had already answered with a non-committal "Hm," before realising that the question was friendly. It would be nice to have someone to talk to that actually knew what was going on and didn't look down on the hospitality crew as 'the help'. But Kavanagh? I only knew him by name because we had the same type of ponytail.

Kavanagh tapped his pen thoughtfully against his chin then shrugged and went back to scribbling on something. Oh well, the sympathy is what counted.

"Maid outfits would make this place far more interesting. Hey, where are you going? The rubbish is still here!"

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Perhaps I should go home. _I need to go home._

I curled up on my cot, the dawn sun thankfully shielded by heavy blinds. I could feel that it was morning, though. I shut my eyes forcefully, getting motion sickness from sitting so still.

There were dreams; thick as paint and filled with a dull throbbing.

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I only truly woke up when the warm cup of coffee burned in my hand. I convinced the cooks to part with some breakfast cereal at what was clearly _the wrong time of day_ to be eating breakfast. I shonked myself down at the clear end of the least occupied table and clunked my loaded tray down. The cereal was mine, mine for thee slurping and crunching and to _heck_ with anyone who tried to tell me otherwise. They would get a half-angry scowl, yes.

There was a heavily armoured guard walking past me, all dressed in black and… and automatic rifle in his hand, and another guard… and _Michael_. Oh, oh no. He was sitting across the table from me. And he was grinning, and making eye contact and _oh _there is going to be a _conversation_.

He was a happy boy. "Hi! These are more of my friends," he gestured with his thumb to the guards, "They like me for my personality." I laughed.

_Good, Caxton, very smooth._

"You got to sleep well then, I take it?" I started, trying to sound normal. The guards exchanged questioning glances. _For the GODS_.

"Yeah," he nodded, still grinning.

Oh well, at least he wasn't picturing me in a maid's outfit. "You enjoying the food—today?" Saying 'today' instead of 'Atlantis' at the sudden tensing of the guards. Yes, the last thing they needed was a stupid _cleaner_ to mess everything up. Note the irony. I continued, "New chef; he's got a doctorate. Why anyone would want to spend six years and thousands of dollars learning how to cook is beyond me." _Probably shouldn't have said that within earshot of all the other doctors, cooks… and everyone else here who DID spend that much to get where they are now, simply to get where they are now, and you're here for doing bugger all! JUST SHOVE THE FOOT IN FURTHER, CAXTON._

"It's good food, though," Michael said with some hope, but I could tell by the way that he moved the bits of sweet potato and beef-something around on his plate that he wasn't so compelled to eat it. "What are you having?" he frowned, almost conspiratorially.

"Breakfast," I mumbled, mouth full of the substance in question, "Some rice or wheat or corn stuff with dried bits of fruit in it. The usual. And my coffee," I curled my fingers around the warm cup protectively. My coffee, all mine.

"Do you work at night?" I looked up at the Wraith-come-human trying to hide his ignorance of the way our world worked.

"Some weeks I do. This week I am working at night, and probably the next two as well. They don't like to change groups too often—it can really screw you up some days, being awake on the wrong side of the clock," I amused myself by separating the fruit from the brown crunchy things while I talked.

"Oh," he said, a little distantly. The awkward silence _grew_. I waffled down the rest of my breakfast, letting Michael take the responsibility of starting any new conversations; even though it was obvious that since the topics of food and work were gone, there was nothing he could think to talk about. I sipped at my coffee, not wanting to panic the suspicious human by rushing off to boring old labour.

"Hey Cax," I looked up and smiled at James, today's busboy. I handed him my tray and kept my coffee close at all times.

"Hey James."

"Night shift?"

"Again." He reached over to get someone else's spent dishes at the same time.

"McKay noticed the blue jello was missing," James smirked.

I smiled, "Oh dear, won't do it again now, will I?"

"See you," he grinned. I repeated his words and dragged myself back to coffee—and angry looking Michael. _Shit_.

"You said your name was Joan," he remarked, eyes narrowed in a suspecting way.

"Yeah," that sounded blank.

"He called you Cax."

"Joan Caxton. That's my full name." To his confusion I added, "Everyone calls me Caxton. We have this thing in hospitality—we're basically at the bottom of the (_don't say food chain_) social ladder, so to speak. We're not geniuses _or_ the-best-of-the-best-of-the-best-_Sir_. We call each other by our last names in mock-seriousness. Pretending that we're all… important. Like peasants in the old days extending their little pinkies when they drank to mimic the rich and famous," I took a swig of coffee, demonstrating so. "Call me whatever you like, I'm just the help," I grunted.

_Yeah, pour your troubles out onto a life-energy-sucking alien. They care_.

"Do you know Teyla? She's nice…different from everyone else. I think she understands me more, with what I'm going through. More than my own people from Earth, the soldiers, you know," he laughed, trying to make light of the conversation.

"She's good with that," I agreed. I had never met her, personally.

"You're different too," he frowned at me, "…A different different, though."

I laughed aloud, "She stands apart from the crowd. I am stood on," I shrugged, "It is my belief that you are only below someone if you allow yourself to believe that you are. Lately, I have been reconsidering that philosophy, though."

"Keep your philosophy. It sounds… useful," he shrugged, vying for positive. I drained my coffee cup _quickly_. _The cleaning beckoned to me._

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Feedback appreciated, guys! Toodles!


	2. Note Bene

Disclaimer: I own nothing but the cleaning crew, and if MGM want to use my characters, then they need to bother with writing a disclaimer for every episode too.

Cleaning Service

PG13 (T)

I unzipped the front of my tan overalls a liberal _inch_, fanning my flushed face back to its regular temperature. It was bad enough being sore from the hauling of metal supply crates, but I didn't have to be slimy as well.

"I don't know why they don't just use _wooden_ crates. I can't see how those tanks can be more environmentally friendly than flipping _pine_," I grumbled, rubbing the thin bags around my eyes.

"Cax, you've got a note," Amcotts reported grimly. I looked around the narrow 'Sanitary Crew' locker room at the bland faces. Pinned up on top of the roster sheets was a pink piece of paper addressing my recent conduct.

I walked up to it and ripped it off the pin, confused, "It's for _me_."

"Yeah. Think of the time it must've taken those guards to match your face up to a name. Ha."

My eyes skim-read the official wording; two sentences down it started to make sense, "It's about Michael."

"Ooh, yeah," James added, "I heard 'em talking about you. You slipped, Cax."

I shot the busboy a dirty look, "I don't_slip_, James. No one tell Edgerton that I got an official warning, 'kay guys? From the noted _Col. Sheppard_," I folded the note in a sharp line and slid it into my locker. Rattling the small metal door shut I took a moment to appreciate the symmetry of the lockers along the wall. A lot of thought had gone into the look of the instalment. The same could not be said about the functionality.

Amcotts shut her locker door with her boot. "What kinda gloves you got today?" she called over, snapping on her own set of rubber hands.

"Black. Think I'm on disposal," I mumbled despondently. At least it wasn't pink, so as to remind me of that sweet note of mine every time I looked down on what I was doing.

Amcotts nodded sportingly and clapped me on the back, "Good way to take your anger out on the world Cax; grab a small piece of it and reduce it to dust."

"Well said, Comrade." The two of us gave a lose high-five and walked our separate ways.

At the incinerator I let my hair down and donned the great ugly eye-protectors. Goggles. They were already grimy with soot from the last person that used them, but, then again, I was already wearing my matching sooty gloves. I flicked on the fume switch with the grubby mitten and started loading the black bags into a barrel to try and salvage as much recyclable paper as possible. Never mind educating the masses about it. Make me do it.

I went back to get the fume mask; oranges seemed to be in season back home. Well, if not in season then in definite _supply_. Nothing smelt worse than the added pungencies of half-composted orange. On Earth my parent's place had fruit trees in their backyard, none of them oranges. Apricots and plumbs didn't smell this sickening after only five minutes exposure.

Disposing of the day's waste didn't take too long. The next part was checking the plumbing clip-on was still completely operational. But the less said about that, the better.

I took a discrete route back to the lockers, sorely tempted to use the teleporters to get back quickly before I stunk up the entire city. On a good day, I might have gotten away with it, but the responsibilities of the pink note seemed to hang about me head like a bad smell. Perhaps afterwards I'd go around to Dr Beckett during my break and apologise. It wasn't their fault that I almost screwed up, after all.

"Hey. Nice goggles."

I turned to see who it was but, alas, it suddenly dawned upon me that I couldn't see anything. I took of the goggles. _Ah, we have light._

"C-Col. Sheppard! I, oh, hello."

"At ease—er. …_Miss_ Caxton. That was awkward."

_Definitely. To what do I owe this great pleasure? _The note._ The note. I received a note from you earlier today… No. Apologies for the… Allow me to excuse my behaviour… uh…_ "I got your note?" I scratched my nose. It was grimy.

"Yeah. The note. The pink one," he looked like he was trying to remember without looking at the folder in his hand, "You had dinner with Lieutenant Michael last night—"

"And almost let slip top secret information, I know, and I'm_very_ sorry—"

He made shushing noises and held up a hand, "Look, Miss Caxton; Michael's been having a pretty tough time getting settled after the accident and he's not exactly appreciating the guards and being monitored twenty-four-seven. So we thought, you know, it'd be better for him if…"

"But I almost told him he was a—"

"You almost told him top secret intelligence that you picked up while doing your job," he informed me with a tone in his voice seemingly on broaching severity.

"Yessir." Strike two.

"And don't let it happen again. Got it?"

"Yessir."

"Great. So, just stay chummy. Michael could do with some new pals. You don't have any plans for dinner, do you?"

_Oh, you almost make me feel like I'm in the same league as you, boy_. I put on a nervy smile, and shrugged with the utmost modesty, "Probably breakfast with Michael. –Sir."

"Good job. And, um, keep up the good work!"

"That's what I get paid to do. Sir."

I wondered about that last line. Lying in my cot, staring up at the perfect square ceiling.

"Money, money, money."

Sure. That's why I signed up. You can't turn down a salary like _that_ when the government offers you a job. _Especially when said job was procured especially for you. _

I opened the blinds and stared at the ocean until the light stung my eyes, Atlantian horizon stretching from top to bottom of my sideways vision.

"Two o'clock," I muttered.

Sometimes all we could do was huddle together, my tan squad, and pretend that we were safe in the bowels of Atlantis. Sure, we fantasised about travelling to rugged and dangerous planets all the time, but no one ever talked about the dangers already facing us.

---

---

---

I ate my jelly in small, bored spoonfuls. Waiting. _No, we're just deep in thought. Oh damn, I thought 'we'. That isn't healthy._Michael thunked down in the seat opposite, jarring the whole table and sending my spoon rattling onto the floor. I didn't pick it up, "Hi."

Michael's eyes spun wildly around to mine. He was panting, one hand gripping his food tray tightly... I could feel the small black hairs on my neck prickle like an animal acknowledging its hunter. "Hi."

I frowned, "You okay? You look..."_My kingdom, my kingdom for an appropriate word!_ "Exerted."

"Fighting..." he panted, sweating like a real man, all rugged. Stop it. "Fighting is the one thing I remember. Because all this... I don't understand any of it. But fighting?" He stabbed his pudding with a steely fork, "It's the one part of me that survived whatever my memories didn't. At least I have that." He looked momentarily confused at what to do with the food in his bowl.

I hope the empathy didn't show on my face… I mean, he was a wraith and all, deep down. _But he was oh-so pathetic. _"You don't remember anything?"

He looked me dead in the eyes, "No."

"Pity, you know? You would have liked it."

"Would've liked what?"

"What? Your childhood. Growing up. You had a good life."

"How d'you know?"

"God, they haven't explained the concept _gossip_ to you yet?"

"No."

"The less you know, the better."

"Why do you say that?"

"What? What's with you? You're so suspicious. Knock it off."

"Yeah… you're probably right. But what's up with this dessert? Have you tried it?" The poor thing looked murdered, chewed up by his fork.

"Nah, not supposed to."

"Are you on a diet?"

_Just let it pass, he's just trying to be normal_, "_No_. I'm eating breakfast. I've got a full day of stockpiling and… and stuff ahead of me. Pudding will just screw with my head." _Sugar with no sleep, what a wonderful cocktail for mischief. Stop it._

---

---

---

"Stockpiling," Edgarton instructed us upon arrival, was crucial to survival in this brave new galaxy. For without stockpiling, there would be chaos, and we would most likely end up eating ourselves. _Mm, braaains_.

"Well, fancy seeing you here lass," Dr Beckett smiled, sitting on a crate with a box full of medical supplies.

"Hey! I didn't know you got down and dirty with the stockpiling."

"Well, I like to know I've counted these myself… since I'm responsible for them and all."

"Aah. Good, good," I sat myself down and grabbed something that needed cataloguing.

"And I'll be sure to earn some brownie points with your lot while I'm at it," he joked, "So how's Michael?"

I yawned, "Getting into fights with Teyla, all the time. I think she should be having the special dinners with Lieutenant Michael."

"I'm glad he's fitting in."

"We always had a place for him." _There was always a place in my life for a tall, manly alien. _

"So I heard your man Edgarton's been off-world,"

"Oh yeah, I heard."

"I was wondering, since you're so used to sterilizing all my equipment, if you wouldn't mind carrying them around for me next time I'm called off-world? And, honestly, it may be months before I'm actually… required, but I wouldn't forget. Probably wouldn't. …You're looking a bit stunned there."

"Thank you."

I was still over the moon at 5am, doing the rubbish round. The pink note--it didn't matter anymore. Not if Dr Beckett wanted me off-world. He was now, officially, my hero. I could hardly keep my mind on whatever it was I was doing. I rubbed my eyes clear, wandering from room to room.

Maybe it'd be a planet covered in unusual conifers… bright red trees. Dad said something about our sun back home shining the brightest in the colour green, which is why the trees are all green. But stars usually shine in the red, and he said the forests of the universe would look like autumn. He could be damn poetic like that.

I went to the next door. Someone was obviously awake inside, _unlike us_. I knocked on the door, "Rubbish Duty." A lot of people were already awake by now, and happy to get rid of their waste. There was a scrambling noise and the door opened.

Wow. I really start to remember where people lived, "Morning Lieutenant."

He stood there, dazed smile of greeting still jammed on his face, clearly trying to remember something, "Oh!" he disappeared behind the door for a moment. He had looked all pale and sweaty, like that other time I caught him after a nightmare. I moved a little closer, peering in through the narrow gap. His hand grabbed the door and I jumped out of my skin. "Chocolate?" he offered confidently.

I laughed, "Is this what they've been teaching you? How to get a girl? Is that the first thing fellow army officers help each other to remember?"

"Another skill that comes naturally," he grinned boyishly. I supposed that would work, as he came from a hive—like a bee, trying to impress the Queen would be a natural impulse. He must have seen me agreeing with him. My face flushed hot red. _Oh yes, agree with his skills. Why don't you do something subtle to finish like take those elevator eyes out for a spin, eh?_

I took another piece of chocolate. "Thanks, but I can't be eating all of your chocolate--"_Nice stuff too, very creamy. _"I 'eally need to get back to 'urk"

"It's better to have someone else eat your chocolate than have to eat it yourself."

"That's very zen, but, you know, no two chocolates are ever the same. You should save some of your better flavours for later in the game."

"...What?"

"Never mind."

"What do you think is the best flavour? Of chocolate, I mean."

"I don't know. My favourite flavour's fudge."

"And do you think... Major Sheppard has a favourite?"

"Um, hard caramel?" Because he's bad-ass?

"And, uh, Dr Carson's? Favourite?"

"Hokey-pokey." I really hoped that none of my guesses would have lasting consequences, but with Michael I could hardly ever tell.

"And Teyla's?" Oh boy. That's why.

"Haha! Um, I'd first check if she has allergies. You don't want to give her nuts if she's allergic to… traces of nuts. Chocolate sometimes has traces of nuts. I don't know why. It must be the machinery." _Awkward_.

"Oh…" Michael took on a pensive look.

"You'll get it one day, Kenmure."

"I hope so." he grunted and rubbed his face, "I really need to see Dr Carson. Those pills he gave me aren't working at all."

---

---

---

Kavanaugh was hunched over his desk with no other light but that of the table lamp. He was tinkering with some complicated electronics using what must've been tiniest screwdriver in Atlantis. Funny, that.

"There's some more trash on that table over there. I ran out of room in the bin," the scientist muttered offhandedly.

_Well, that wouldn't happen if you didn't waste so much paper. _"You're up early," I couldn't help but let another yawn escape me as the thought passed.

"Well, I am at my intellectual peak at five in the morning. Quite a lot of people are. Well, _some_, at least."

"Five in the morning no longer has any meaning to me. I've had all sorts of crazy shifts this week." It could be the pink note. They might be putting me on probation. Trying to drive me crazy.

"Oh, it's you."

"Hi."

Kavanaugh scrutinised the rubbish-free table top from across the room, "I was wondering, will you doing tomorrow's waste shift as well?"

"No." Or as Will Smith would say; _Hell no_.

"So… you wouldn't mind getting a meal together?"

I brushed hair out of my eyes to see him better, _surely he was joking_. Well, with the smug smirk he was wearing, how could anyone tell? I stood up straight, chuckling nervously. _Bravado beats scissors._ "A date with a genius scientist on some exotic off-world location in the middle of Pegasus Galaxy, who could say no to that?" _Me_. Be polite! Remember the pink note.

He laughed in some sort of unbelieving way, "Off-world? Is that all you people ever think about? You just go around trying to sidle up to any person that will take you to a foreign planet?"

"Excuse me? I'm not the one chatting up the _garbage lady _for a one-night stand!" Oh shit.

"What? Why would I risk catching something off you? Do you mind just collecting the garbage and not disturbing my work, thank you?"

My face swelled with anger, "Yeah, sure thing!"

"Yeah, sure." He went back to work on his electronics, scowling into the lamplight.

_Prissy bastard! _I wheeled the garbage trolley down the hallway, letting the shrieking wheels jar my ears; a welcome change. Why the _hell _would he make a pass at some one so insignificant, anyway? Bastard.

Amcotts wasn't much more understanding.

"Goddamn it!"

"You_yelled _at one of the scientists?" Amcotts hissed, keeping her voice low.

"He was chatting me up!" I whispered harsh enough for bits of spittle to fly out.

"Oh yeah, rip his balls off! Hey, maybe he was being _nice_!"

"He was not! And I was joking about the one-night stand!"

"Cax, do you have any idea what they could do to you?"

"What do you mean 'do to me'?"

"You just got a warning notice! What if he reports you? No, when he reports you… what are you going to do? Do you really think they'll treat you like one of their own because you're friendly with Michael?"

"Shut up! You know what? Get the hell out." I spat.

"Cax, you've got to apologise to Kavanaugh."

"I'm not doing that."

"Think of everyone else in the tan gang! Do you really wanna screw us over, too?"

"Sure, whore myself out for every scientist just because I'm already _below_them! That's some great advice Amcotts!"

"Fine." She stormed out of the lockers, banging the door in a like a charging rhino, leaving me to wallow in my own destruction.

"…Oh shit, Amcotts…" _this is somebody else's nightmare I'm trapped inside_.

---

---

---

"If she does become a threat to the… welfare and mental state of our people, then yes, we _may _need to isolate her," Major Sheppard conceded grimly.

McKay was biting his thumbnail, keeping pace with the other two men, "Do you know what she could do? She could start blackmailing us! Blackmail! She could use Michael to get whatever she wants! How did I not see this coming?"

"And we don't negotiate with terrorists, do we Kavanaugh?"

"Clearly the only thing to do in that scenario would be to drop her off on some isolated planet and--"

Something dawned on Sheppard's face, "Oh no. You know what, Kavanaugh? That's not going to happen because uninhabited planets are short in supply as it is right now. And anyway… one of those planets is already reserved for you and you alone." He stared the scientist down before motioning to McKay for the them to depart. Major Sheppard strode away, muttering under his breath, "_Creep_."

"That… that wasn't the same rubbish lady that yelled at me, was it?" McKay asked suddenly.

"Probably."

"And you're not worried at all that a psychopathic rubbish lady could tell… Lieutenant …Kenmure?"

"Michael just remembered who he was."

"I suppose that makes blackmail di--wait, did she tell him?"

---

---

---

It was evening outside.

I zipped the collar of my uniform right up to the top this time, the low visibility tan choking me at the neck. I had to apologise to Kavanaugh if I was ever to brave the world outside my sleeping quarters again. Sleeping on the whole thing had calmed me down. Hopefully he'd calmed down too, over the eight hours I spent with my head under the pillow.

'_Sorry? Is that the best you can do? You should be grovelling to even be allowed to be allowed on this voyage to the other side of--_' my imagination did not need much of a head start to enter several different 'worst case scenarios'. Maybe after a good kick in the arse from mother humility, Amcotts might be able to forgive me.

And I needed her to forgive me. Like I needed the tan gang, I needed to belong to them. _Maybe that's what Michael feels. Missing his hive_.

I looked into the mirror mounted on the wall and redid my ponytail, tighter. "You know what, Michael? Just for the record, you are more human than _any _other member of the Atlantis Expedition." I looked to the side then, not wanting to see my face. _Or maybe to be human is the darkest role there is to play._

Somebody's knocking pulled me out of my head. James poked his head in the door, "Hey, Cax… Amcotts sent me to get you. Your shift starts soon--laundry, you know. We're switching things a bit so that Robertson can get out early."

"Ten minutes, I'll be there."

"…Did you only just wake up?"

"I don't feel like breakfast today." This, somehow, made James look a little relieved. He gave me a supportive smile and left with a quiet 'see you there'. Michael will probably be having suspicions at why I'm suddenly absent from breakfast… dinner, whichever. I gave a wry smile.

I grabbed the tan cap from corner of my cot and walked out of the room, keeping my head down. Straight to the laundry room.

"They're holding a service for Sergeant Cole tomorrow morning, think you'll go?" James asked lightly, programming the washing machines.

"Do you think people like us will be _wanted _there, James?"

"Ah, good point."

"Has Amcotts said anything about me?"

"Why?"

"I yelled at Kavanaugh."

"Is that why you got the pink note?"

"No, no. This is _after _the pink note."

"Oh-ho-ho! You little rebel. I mean, was this after you found out about…?"

"About what?"

"You know. Wraith-boy."

"James! Shut up!" I hissed, almost lunging at him, "What the _hell_would have happened if he'd heard you?" I looked around everywhere, expecting to see Michael looking mortified, having just found out…

"Well he's under constant supervision, it's not like he's going to hunt us down. Dr Weir, on the other hand," he tugged at his neckline emphatically, "Wouldn't want her catching me saying _that_about _him_."

"A couple of guards and you think you're safe? Boy, and they think _I'm_ the crazy one."

"Score, Caxton," James sniggered.

---

---

---

The room was filled with the pleasant burr of washing machines and silence. Every so often I noticed the metal clock ticking on the wall. I poked my finger through a bullet hole of a recently cleaned uniform, "This will need fixing."

"Put it in the pile, then. I'll do the stitching while you're out on sterilisation."

"Oh, that's right." _The perfect thing to take my mind off Kavanaugh, playing with _clean _things_. I inhaled deeply, "Ah, James, the smell of lemon in the morning."

"Smells like victory… over stains," he smirked.

"Ha, James, you're such a tool."

"I know. I'm a cleaning tool." I threw the camouflage uniform at him and sauntered out of the humming room.

_Be immaculate! Be immaculate! _The funny-looking scissors go on the left of the scalpel… don't they?

"Thanks, luv, I really appreciate the help,"

"No problem."

"They honestly give you no notice about these sorts of things, do they?"

"Hmm?"_Tricky fiddly bits… blades everywhere…_

"All of a sudden they want me to get a team ready to go to the Alpha Site by ten--who decides that it's a good idea to move to the Alpha Site at five in the morning?" He slid a hand down his face, "Honestly…"

"The Alpha Site? Today? Really?" _Damn! I should have caught up on sleep while I had the chance!_

"Yeah. It was a wee bugger trying to get the medical team sorted on short notice, let alone having to wake them up as well. Oh, it's not as if we'll be doing anything difficult. They're all just worried that we aren't taking enough precautions." _He'd forgotten me._

"…Mm."

Dr Beckett rubbed his eyes wearily, "I just can't… it's been a long day." His face twinged, "Oh, what am _I _saying?" He was stressed out of his mind.

"It's been a hard day for a lot of people…" _that seemed to just make it worse_! "It'll get better!"

"Sergeant Cole is dead! And I'm responsible!" _Oh Jiminy; _that _kind of service!_

"Hey, you were just doing your job. That's what we do."

"And a great lot of good that brought to Atlantis."

"Well, I know… I know you tried."

"Did management tell you to say that to me?"

"Management wants me to shut up," he seemed to appreciate that joke more. _If only it was a joke._ Dr Beckett picked up a small syringe off his desk, and promptly put it down again. "Anything else you need, Dr Beckett?"

"No," the doctor murmured, still looking at the syringe.

"I could deliver that thing if you want."

"Oh. Yes, you could… You wouldn't mind the extra trouble, though?" he asked nervously.

"Oh no! It'd be a nice break from routine. Where is it headed?" I picked up a sterilised tray and loaded it with a few alcoholic swabs and the proffered insulin.

"The detention centre, remember?" he said sadly.

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This was never meant as a one-shot ;) I've got a whole plot lined up for you wonderful readers, once I get it written out. Reviewers, you are the ink of my pen, diodes of my word processor, the riches of my inbox! All feedback welcome! Update: I noticed a grammatical error, so I fixed it.

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	3. The Help

Disclaimer: I don't own Stargate or any of the affiliates, but to the people who do; thank you so much for bringing Michael back!

Update: There's a little bit more at the end, for people who have already read this chapter! Christmas bonus!

Cleaning Service

PG13 (T)

When you're falling towards the ground from a really far height… the last thing you're thinking about is the wind gently caressing your face. No, what you're thinking about is the ground, and what it's going to feel like when _that _gently caresses your face.

As it was, I was walking towards the Atlantean 'detention centre' and all I could think about were the guards, and they didn't look too _prepared _for my visit.

"Will you please state your business, ma'am," asked the wall of solid guard-muscle.

I jiggled the tray in my hands, "I'm running an errand for Dr Beckett. Insulin. Either of you guys got diabetes?"

"…Aren't you one of the cleaning staff?"

"Sanitisation and Maintenance, yes, why?" My eyes darted between their two stoic faces, "Dr Beckett is busy, he asked me to deliver this."

"Isn't that what the nurses do?"

"Yes, well the nurses are busy too. Did you want me to get a permission slip?" I asked with a straight face. One guard muttered to another, hardly moving his lips.

The talkative guard jerked his head, "He's in the cell. Might want to ask for a new assignment, Xena."

"The guy in the cell? Fine. If he starts giving me trouble, you're holding him down for me," I warned, tensing up ever-so-obviously. I took a few steps into the gloomy detention centre and saw the soldier standing in the cell. It felt like hitting the ground face-first.

_Michael_? "Mic--Lieu, Lieutenant Kenmure. What are you doing in a prison cell?" Michael looked up at me, his face carefully blank. He didn't say anything.

Insulin! Dr Beckett gave him insulin to keep his… 'blood sugars' under control. _And finding out one's true identity is never kind on the blood sugars, is it?_ "I've, uh, got your insulin," I added lamely.

"Oh… And you think that I'll just take the Insulin? Really? Well it's a bit late for that, _Joan Caxton_," Michael replied sourly, "I've already found out the truth."

_Oh shit_, "The truth? The truth about me being ordered to have dinner with you?" Judging from the look on his face; no.

"You were _ordered _to have dinner with me?"

"What? You just said you knew the truth," I defended.

"The truth that I'm a _wraith_," his voice shook with the word. He looked away, furious. He knew. That was… unexpected. Had his memory come back, or was he in-between knowing the lie, and remembering the truth?

The man-wraith muttered, "And now I know I was deceived by even the_lowest _of humans."

"The_lowest_?" I questioned tightly.

His face had returned to a blank mask, blinking slowly, "You did exactly what they told you to do." Only his tone said _'And I'm so glad they didn't ask you to do more'._

"Well where do you want the insulin, Lieutenant Kenmure? Between the eyes?"

"I found the files Dr Beckett had recorded of me, the ones where you people turned me into _this_. And now…"

"He killed sergeant Cole," the guard at the door supplied.

"_What_? When did that happen?"

"He shot Sergeant Cole," answered the other of the guards, "Earlier this evening on the way to the infirmary."

"What?" I turned my attention back to Michael.

"It was… an accident," he said with great difficulty.

"Like hell it was," one of the guards shouted.

"He was going to shoot me!"

"Can't say I blame him."

"Lieutenant!" I shouted above the din, staring intently at the welding on the bars, "You need to take your insulin."

"You're just another one of _them_." He turned his back on me, me and his two jailers.

I looked to the nearest guard; what to say? _I'm sorry, the wraith hurt my feelings, can I leave? _"This guy's a whack-job, can I just leave this here? They'll probably knock him out in an hour and give it to him then, anyway."

"Sure."

---

---

---

I decided to head back to the dining hall after that. But I worried. I worried about what Dr Beckett would think when he found that Michael hadn't had his 'insulin'. I worried about what Michael was thinking. Right now. Was he already in full-blown wraith rage… or was he undulating through the anger and melancholy of betrayal?_Careful, that's starting to sound like Dr Heightmeyer-speak_.

James and Portman were walking down the corridor. I didn't care where they were going, but I did care about slamming James into a wall._Gently caress that_. "James!" I hissed from across the corridor, "Why didn't you tell me that Michael killed Cole?"

James stopped walking, Portman glanced at the two of us, "You didn't know?"

"I thought you knew."

"James… how was I supposed to know? I had only just woken up! The memos do not come to me while I am in bed!"

"Calm down!"

"I had to give the damn guy an insulin shot!"

"So how'd it go?" James grinned.

My scowl broke, "Oh, not bad, didn't have to do it in the end, he was too cranky."

"Too cranky?" Portman repeated, sceptically.

I shrugged heavily, "He's just pissed off that we lied to him. The whole city. And now they're taking him to the alpha site. Today. Guards told me," I ran a hand over my short ponytail, "And I don't think they'll be bringing him back."

"Good. That guy gives me the willies!"

"Portman!" James exclaimed in an undertone, "They had lunch together. Caxton_fancies _him. Ow!" _Perhaps I _did _kick him in the shin too hard; but I'm sure he's man enough to take it_…

"Shut up, James! I don't!" Correction, had I not actually even considered it… I probably would have laughed and played along with the scenario. Damn it, they're bound to have noticed.

"Well, if you didn't fancy him, you wouldn't have kicked James," Portman pointed out. _Damn it_.

"Oh Michael, come and dance with me, Michael!"

Then the two of them started singing, "I'm all that you see, you wanna see, so come an dance with me, Michael." I couldn't help laughing; I'd forgotten that Franz Ferdinand song. Masters of all music in two galaxies. It was too hard for me to resist, especially with the two of them dancing around like that… so early in the morning.

What I was most surprised with was how we sang the entire song _in tune_.

---

---

---

Seven-odd heads bobbed up from their breakfast plates when we sauntered into the cafeteria. Amcotts wasn't one of them. Edgerton was, though; "Hey there. You alright Caxton? You weren't here for breakfast."

"Was there an announcement at breakfast?" _Edgerton… calm? Pleasant, even.  
Strange. He mustn't have heard about Kavanaugh, yet._

"Yeah, about Michael." Everything important gets announced while I'm not around.

"Don't worry; I found that out when Dr Beckett sent me over with some '_insulin'_," I drew the quotation marks in the air.

"Ed-unit, did you hear about Michael?" James asked, bringing up two trays of heated leftovers. _Yoink_.

Edgerton nodded, "Just then. They're shipping him off to the alpha site before lunch."

Portman leaned into our little huddle, "Does he get lunch first?"

"You volunteering?"

"Sit down Cax."

_Ooh, Lasagne_. "Thanks…" I had to smile at the fashionable glasses of blue jelly lined up cheekily in front of each food tray, like little offerings to the God of small and underpaid peoples. He will be going--gone, in a few hours. _What am I going to do about Michael? _No, that's not our way. We do not _do _things._Then how is anything to be done?_

"Earth to Caxton?" What?

"Portman."

"What?"

"We're not on Earth!" someone whacked him.

I chuckled, despite having a full mouth, giving him a stuffed-cheek grin. Portman smirked and tried to restart the conversation, "Cax, you know you're helping me with windows tomorrow?"

"Mmfh?"

"You're covering Amcotts' shift… didn't you tell her?"

Edgerton frowned, "Oh, that's right. Caxton, you're covering Amcotts' shifts for the next few weeks."

_Gulp_. "…Why?"

"I spent three days shifting the roster around to make room for you not being here; it's just easier if I give you Amcotts' shifts instead."

"Edgerton, what are you talking about?" The entirety of the Tan Gang were silent, their eyes moving over us.

"Dr Beckett had requested your assistance for an off-world mission."

"_Really_…? Man, I-I thought he forgot about me. …Why is Amcotts going?"

Edgerton made a face, "Cax, as much as I applaud you ripping Kavanaugh's balls off like that; it's still against policy."

_Oh, fuck policy! _"I didn't--! I didn't 'rip his balls off'. I just lost my cool with him. He's an annoying guy, Okay!"

"Look, I am really sorry that you're missing out on this, Cax. I am. But you've got to… you know, work on your people skills if you want to stay here." _Stay here?_

"Stay here? Is my job in danger?"

"I'm not saying it is!"

I laughed in exasperation and leaned back on the chair. "So Amcotts is going on the mission," I said. _Thank you, o benevolent force. Thank you for this fan-tastic display of Karma._

---

---

---

I marched silently through the corridors, heading towards the box-like rooms of the apartments we slept in. We, being the cleaners; her, being Amcotts. I knocked on her door with sharp, staccato notes. She didn't look too surprised to see me when she opened the door.

Words left me; all I could do was look at her, incredulously. I waved my arms in a helpless gesture, but she didn't say anything.

"Did you _know _they offered it to me first?" I whispered, "Or didn't you ask?"

She frowned, "You think it's alright to treat everyone like crap, then?"

"What are you talking about? I've never treated you like crap!" _Aside from yesterday_.

"I'm not talking about me, I'm talking about everyone! Edgerton may have a flagstaff up his starboard-bow about how you treat superiors, but he's got a point, you know!"

"_What_? Oh, so you're on the brown-noser side now? I can't believe you stole probably the _only _shot I'm ever going to have at going to a completely alien planet! Do you have any idea how completely_wrong _that is?"

"No one is asking you to be a second-class citizen, but you wouldn't mind showing people just a _little _bit of respect? You treat everyone here like they're supposed to be looking out for _your_feelings. Look, at some point even your friends have to tell you to grow up."

"Because I'm the only one with the balls to stand up for myself?"

"So mouthing off to a scientist like we're in high school seems _okay_to you?"

"And so you take my off-world mission? How does that work?"

"I didn't take it, you lost it. And it is not a mission! We aren't marines."

"Did Dr Beckett ask you to go?" I growled.

She managed to hold my gaze, "_Edgerton _asked me to relieve you."

_Lord_, what if Dr Beckett didn't even remember who was supposed to turn up? He'd think Amcotts was me. I'd be replaced, indefinitely, in his good books. He'd probably end up thinking that Amcotts was the one befriending Michael.

I felt something vile building inside me, "And you said yes?"

"Look, just go settle this with Kavanaugh, okay? So we can all go back to normal." _Normal was never ideal in the first place, anyway_. "If you'll excuse me, I have to finish packing."

"Oh, you're not excused," I muttered, turning away. I heard the door shut and it clicked, suddenly, in my head. I stared blankly at the wall in front of me.

"You blew the whistle Am." I murmured in an undertone, "It wasn't Kavanaugh… you talked with Edgerton… it didn't even make it as far as his superior, did it? And now … you're going to the alpha-site."

_And there I was thinking that I was the only one holding a candle for Michael._

---

---

---

Alright. If she did something, so can I. _I'm _taking actionI have to think of a plan, right now. Some way to help Michael. And I've got less than two hours to pull this off.

I saw a teleport station further along the corridor. I walked into it, full of purpose, and looked at the map. My mind was buzzing so much I couldn't make top or tail of it, let alone draw inspiration for a plan to do… whatever it was I was doing.

"Here we go," I murmured. I pressed a destination at random; the doors opened again and I stumbled out into the corridor. I walked past two scientists giving me scathing looks for using the Lantean technology._Ignore them. _I was near the kitchens, I think.

James walked out of the double doors, looking tired from the long shifts. I didn't blame him.

"James!_James!_" I hissed, running up to him.

"Caxton-Caxton?"

"I need your help," I gulped, "We need to get back to Laundry."

"You didn't screw up the machines, did you?"

"What? No! Why would you think that?"

"Nothing. Just worried about you, chick, that's all. Hate to think you'd go Kamikaze on the base after they took your off-world mission. Hotwiring washing machines, you know. They can be dangerous appliances."

"Oh, much worse than hotwired washing machines." _I can pull this off. I can pull this off; I have to try_.

I dragged him into the teleporter, "James, which one's closest to Laundry?"

I heard a few cries of outrage from the two scientists still standing outside of the teleporting device. The doors slid shut. James looked worried, "We can't use these!"

"Dock it from my pay. Now which one?"

He scanned the map briefly, then pressed a flashing dot. I heard the rush of sound and the doors opened. James grabbed my shoulder and guided me out. His hold tightened when we were on solid ground, "Joan, talk to me. What are you doing?"

"Did you make the repairs on that uniform?" I asked.

"What does--"

"Did you make the repairs, James?" I asked louder.

"Yes! I did-" I tried to move past him, but he didn't let go; "No, listen. You don't need to make this more dramatic than it already is. Tell me, right now, where is this going?"

"I'm going to impersonate a soldier so I can go to the Alpha Site with Michael." _Okay, next time someone asks, this had better not sound just as stupid_. James looked like I had just told him I was going to amputate my own leg. I jerked up my chin with a frown, "I know what I'm doing!"

"Do you have the _faintest clue _how much that would _never work_?"

"I'm figuring this out as I go; I don't have _time _to think it all through."

"No, what you have to do right now is calm down. I know you're as pissed as all heck about what Amcotts did, a lot of us are, and maybe you've got a teensy-weensy strange little crush on a man-eating alien, but think about what you are doing for a second!"

"I am doing… I am doing…" I looked around for inspiration, but nothing came. _I don't have the whole plan just yet_. "James I need your help."

He swore loudly. Thank goodness for empty corridors, "I'll help you with the uniform," he let go of my shoulder, "But hopefully by the time you've dressed up like a man you'll see how _stupid_this is _before _we both get fired!"

"What do I need?"

"What do you mean 'what do I need'? This is your plan!"

"James!"

"Come on. What size are you?"

"I don't know, check the back of my tag." James pulled up my collar and angled the tag around.

"Damn." James grabbed a bundle of military fatigues with recent mending and patches sewn on, "You need a black tee underneath all this. I've got none. You're doomed," he huffed.

"I'm wearing one," I grinned triumphantly, "Turn around, I'll get changed."

He raised his eyebrows, "You can't've changed that much in a year."

"You never know how fast people change," I muttered, unzipping the tan coveralls and shucking them off unceremoniously. I grabbed the grey military slacks awkwardly and hurried to get them on.

"Kermit?"

"Huh?" I looked up, fiddling with the belt.

"Kermit the Frog?" James was looking at my t-shirt--Oh bugger. I knew I'd put a black one on this morning, but I didn't think I was wearing the Kermit collector's edition top. The lime-green face would be hard to hide.

"I'll wear the jacket over it; they won't know. I'll keep the vest on, too, at all times. You won't be able to see it under the vest."

"You haven't _got _a vest, Cax."

"I'm working on it. Do you have any boots?" James went over to the corner of the Laundry and reluctantly brought back a pair of polished boots. I slipped out of my own tan slip-ons and sunk my foot in a massive black boot. It was way too big, but I tried to hide that from James.

"What are you going to do about the rest, aye? Vest, guns, walkie-talkie? Caxton," James crouched down to my eye-level, I ignored him, focusing my attention on my shoelaces. "Caxton, I _am _impressed at what you're trying to do for Michael… but it's not your responsibility to save his worthless life."

"He… James, you don't understand. I've got to help him." _Because, of course, he'd do the same in the reverse! I wish_.

"No, Cax this has to stop here. You don't have the equipment to properly impersonate a soldier and there is no way in Pegasus that security would--"

"I have an idea how to solve both issues, but it may involve a bit of brute force."

He laughed shortly, "I am _not _letting you hurt anyone."

I heard the undertone in his voice, "You don't even think I can."

"Joan, Joan? I was humouring you for the clothes; I know how crazy you can get over ideals sometimes."

"Help me or leave me the hell alone." But, more importantly, help me!

"I'm going to get Edgerton," James was standing up, threatening to walk out the door.

I sighed and closed my eyes. I couldn't wrestle him to the floor and tie him up. I didn't know how to wrestle. "Fine, James." I put my head in my hands, "Fine. Fine, I give up. Just… please don't tell Ed about this, alright?"

A pause, and I felt him pat my shoulder, "Thank you," he sounded very relieved of whatever problems _he _was having to face. "…Is there anything I can get you? Aspirin? Water--"

"Panadol, Nurofen, Aspirin… anything that stops headaches in little white pills."

He rubbed my arm, "Will you be alright here for a bit?"

"Yeah," I replied demurely.

"It's been an emotional day for everyone, you probably worst of all. And you've got a temper, I'll give you that."

I tried really, really hard to take the urgency out of my voice. I had to waste time here, waste time to make time. "Yeah… so I've been told."

"Could've turned out worse," James smiled, still hanging around the door.

"I think I should book an appointment with Heightmeyer, if she's free," I ran a hand over my hair nervously.

"I didn't think of that. It's a good idea. Your crazy might be contagious," James tried to joke a little. I forced a rueful smile. "I'll go get you your Aspirin."

"Thanks…" I watched him walk out of the Laundry. His footsteps echoed down the corridor, past the teleporter. Further past the teleporter. I tied my other shoelace hurriedly. I zipped the military issue shirt over my black Kermit t-shirt and found a wrinkly cap in one of the piles of clothes. There were no mirrors here, but I reassured myself twice before marching out of the room.

There's 'why', Michael. 'Cos you're the only one who wouldn't be surprised to see me busting your ass out of the Alpha Site.

I ran to the teleporting station, tucking my black ponytail up into the cap. The doors slid shut behind me with a hiss. My hands were shaking, hovering over the map. _I should have hidden my clothes better_. I touched the activated symbol closest to the gate room.

Jackpot. A soldier walked past me, a whole head taller than me, but a knuckle-dragger none the less. Judging from the amount of equipment he was carrying around with him, quite a fair bit strapped right on his body, he was heading for off-world.

"Hey!" I quipped loudly, marching out of the teleporter, "You're heading for the Alpha Site, right?"

He frowned at me, "We aren't allowed to use those." He nodded at the teleporter station.

I looked over my shoulder, "Well, my apologies, but I thought the situation called for it. It's my first day and… I'm late." I tried standing with my feet apart and arms clasped behind my back. He laughed at me.

"You're definitely new. Where you headin'? You lost, girl?"

"_No_. I was sent here to find _you_," I returned coldly, stretching my neck to correct the eye-level difference. "Dr Weir does not want you to go on this… assignment. She believes you, like a few others, have been stretched a bit thin lately. She doesn't want to… wear you out." _Coy, Caxton. Very smooth._

Disbelief and anger showed on his face, "Only Colonel Sheppard has the authority make a call like that!"

"Those are Colonel Sheppard's orders," I stated clearly. I angled my head, keeping the guy's eye contact snagged, "He believes in equal treatment in the workplace. You could always the issue up with him, though, if you're feeling up to it."

"I don't believe this!" he snarled, more to himself than to me.

I tugged my cap lower over my forehead and cleared my throat, "I, uh, was also asked to take your equipment for this mission. I am… very new, they have not yet issued me with my own set of… stuff."

He narrowed his eyes, "What do you want, kid?"

I jerked my chin up, "Anything you have that I don't."

---

---

---

I stood rigid in the Gateroom, any shaking weighed down all the equipment 'borrowed' from that other soldier, marine… whatever he was. I hope I wasn't impersonating someone important. _Important enough to have grenades_. What if someone asks--no, no point worrying about that. Look on the bright side, Caxton, _you haven't screwed up so far! _

A man in a stony-grey uniform that matched mine walked up to the platform, hefting even more black bags than I was. He stopped and gave me a once-over; "You the rookie that's replacing Tane?"

I felt adrenalin blossom in my gut like quick-freeze. The horror may have shown on my face, because the guy chucked, "Oh, _definitely_new."

"Did… Dr Weir tell you that I was going to be relieving…?"

"Nah, Tane did on his way back to the bunkers," he whistled, "Sure was pissed off about it."

Not my problem. "Well it's not like we'll be doing much more than babysitting," I shrugged, "Security detail at the Alpha Site."

"It's more than just a security detail. Sheppard's really worried about the freak flippin' out. Shoot to kill, finally. That's if Ronon doesn't get him first. Ah well, either way, it'll be a shot for Sergeant Cole."

I pursed my lips in a prudent manner, "_Well_." Yeah, that's awkward. Michael did kill someone, after all. _But I thought it was only the dogs that were taken out behind the barn and shot, sir_. "Understood," I nodded.

More men carrying bags assembled on the Gateroom floor, like a handful of over-grown school kids getting ready to go on camp. Tane's friend squeezed his radio, "Sir! Alpha team has assembled in the Gateroom."

The radio buzzed and Sheppard's voice replied, "Roger that. Send Waterford and Clark over to help me pick up Michael; we'll need a stretcher, too, so send some of the medical staff over."

"Roger, Sir." _Over-and-out_, I mentally appended.

"Send everybody else through the 'Gate. Have the perimeter set up before we bring Mike through, just in case." I let my breath go very quietly. I was _very _lucky. Guess I was getting to go off-world after all.

One small step for Caxton… well, several steps. I sucked in air and stepped through. It felt like stepping into a fridge! A nice, green, forested fridge. _Keep walking, keep walking._

It was hard to keep focus on what I was doing. I wanted to get a closer look at the trees, find some high vantage point and look at all the hills, see if there were any lakes. I wanted to find some alien fish!_You've already got one alien on your plate; it'd be plain greedy to ask for more_.

There was a lot of walking.

_I am a fit army lady. Fit army lady_, I kept telling myself, _I should NOT be breaking a sweat. Gah! It's too hot! _A lot of people were coming and going, moving heavy medical equipment across to the 'camp'. Medical trainees and two scientists, so far. And one Caxton. And one Michael, in a short while. From the sounds of things… they probably _were _going to knock him out before moving him. Like a horse or a sick dog.

The base camp was centred in the base of a large, level crater with inflatable buildings and more people consumed by the buzz of activity. It felt good to set the bags down, at last.

The scenery was pretty. Art-worthy, even.

"…And remember to calculate precisely how much he will need given the results from his blood tests…" Dr Beckett was striding through the camp, medical team in tow. I turned my face away and casually, shakily, moved to the nearest tent.

My heart was pumping hard, drowning out the other sounds. God, what would his reaction have been? Stop everything? Lock me up for conspiracy, sabotage? The good doctor walked past me and I turned my head the other way, looking intently at the open flap-door of the tent. Still. White. Sterile.

I moved closer to the door, slowly, curiosity piqued. The corner of a medical stretcher and booted feet came into view. Michael Feet. My head twinged in memory. _Does he even remember kicking me in the face? No, course not._

Something pincer-like grabbed my arm. I turned and ended up looking into the wide eyes of a very pale Amcotts; "What are you doing here?"

"H-Hi, um, …yes?" I tried to act like a soldier. Soldierly.

She walked us over to the side of a tent, trying to act inconspicuous. Luckily, it came as a natural talent to her, "Cax… they're going to _shoot _you for this. I mean, not literally of course; that's against the law and they couldn't really get away with that. But what are you _doing _here?"

"Same reason you're here!"

"What?"

"I'm here for the same reason you grabbed my spot! If it _was _you that got Edgerton to switch us." She looked shocked, speechless. And a little bit horrified. Her eyes lowered a bit. She shifted from foot to foot, gravel crunching under her feet.

I shouldn't have snarled at her. She could blow the whistle on this little… misadventure, too. _She wouldn't_. She grinned up at me, "Wow, Cax. Thanks."

"Thanks? What does 'thanks' mean?" _She wouldn't! _

"I mean you, helping me, after I… went and stole your place. Thanks, Caxton.

"And by 'helping you' you're meaning… The rescue mission?"

"Yes."

I raked my eyes over the surrounding camp site. The soldiers must have dispersed… I hope I wasn't missed, "I said I'm here for the same reason as you are. I really am. Literally." I raised my eyebrows in indication, "…The same reason on two legs who arrived in Atlantis in a pair of breezy scrubs."

"…Ah."

"But I've got a gun!" I offered helpfully, "I don't know what it is. It isn't a shotgun. Do you know how to tell if they're automatic or not?"

"No. Look, I've… I've already started, but my plan's not great."

"What've you done?"

"I set up the 'wrong' stretcher, Velcro rather than buckles, you know? And I grabbed a wraith stunner. I'm hoping they won't notice…" she pulled out a small pistol-like thing from the yellow pockets of the tan jacket she was wearing, fingering it cautiously.

"Ooh, can I have that?" Amcotts handed it over. It felt strangely… organic. Grooves and ridges designed to fit a slightly larger hand than mine.

She folded her arms, "You ever shot anything before?"

"Oh yeah. School trip to a shooting range. I got a pretty high score."

"What did you shoot?"

"Cardboard. Well, wood. Target board. With a shotgun."

Amcotts nodded, "I think you should have it. I've never shot anything before, and it would probably look a bit too conspicuous for a cleaner to be handling firearms. And anyway," she patted my arm, "You're already in more trouble than either of us could possibly imagine."

"Thanks, Am!" I scoffed.

We waited for another soldier to walk past the two tents and she bowed, "Glad to be of help. Glad you are _here _to help," she sighed.

"So am I." _Just like the rest of them, am I?_

"Rookie!" I looked over to Tane's friend in the middle of the camp. As I trudged over in my heavy army gear I noticed the map in his hands.

---

---

---

Tane's friend had pointed to a green part of the map where there was a brown, wiggly line. I couldn't find the wiggly line on the forest floor, but I did walk deep enough into the trees in the way he had pointed. And I was pretty close to the 'Gate, which would help.

As long as Amcotts doesn't turn me in and I actually come up with a_plan_.

The trees were more alien than I had expected; the bark split up into little honeycomb-shaped pieces up and down the trunk. I ran my hand over the wood to see what it felt like and got my hand covered in brownish-red pollen stuff. I tried to brush it off on my trouser leg, but it had already given me quite a rash.

"Goddamn it! I can't go fifteen minutes without getting--!" I growled.

The radio crackled unexpectedly, "Attention all personal, this is Colonel Sheppard; all military personal please keep to channel seven and channel six will be reserved for medical and scientific personal communications. Sheppard out."

"Okay," I said to the forest, "Roger that, Colonel Sheppard."

Tane's friend's voice followed, "Got the perimeter set up, Colonel. Tight as a net." _Oh really?_

The radio went quiet after that. I sat down, rubbing my itching hand and thought about what I was going to do. I closed my eyes and tried to brainstorm. _Help Michael_. What does Michael want? Freedom.

"When does he want it? Now." I sighed. I could try to spring him out. Then I'd probably be facing the firing squad. Was there a way to get back to Atlantis that _didn't _involve the firing squad?

Maybe I could convince Michael to stay. Didn't bring any candy to bribe him with, though. I had a stunner, and he had loose shackles.

I started fiddling with the dial of the radio, _click, click, click_. I flicked onto channel six and listened to Dr Beckett order some people on the other side of the base, "Did you get the right stretcher, Amcotts?"

"Yep, the stainless steel with the secure holdings, doctor."

I clicked the 'talk' button, "Civilian Amcotts."

There was a pause and crackle of static, "Yes?"

"Can I have a word with you on channel four… please?" I clicked over two channels, "I would like to… discuss your authorisation in the Alpha Site. In private."

"Sorry? …Alright. …Yes?"

"Is this conversation secure?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Aint nobody here but us chickens. Who is this?"

"Joan Beatrice Caxton. Don't make me say it again."

"Do you have a plan, yet?"

_Quick! Now's your opportunity! Think of a plan! _"…Nope, I've got nothing."

"Two cleaners won't be enough to overcome two units of trained military best-of-the-best."

"I think you underestimate the crafty nature of two sneaky cleaners, Amcotts," I replied smartly. I got no reply on the radio. Just more crackling. "Amcotts, that was a joke. I'm just trying to lighten the mood." I let go of the 'talk' button and heard the end of a '_Shhh_!'

Silence. Lots of it. I waited a short while, and flicked back onto the other channels. I had no idea what was going on. Some anonymous voice was saying, "Not a word from anyone on the perimeter, Colonel." No information there.

I clicked back to the medical channel and heard another voice, "Dr Beckett, Teyla wants to know where the 'ready-to-eat' meals are packed."

Damn, and now I was hungry. And worried. No, perhaps someone just saw her talking and she thought she'd better stop.

They can't know.

---

---

---

Tane's friend nodded to his Commanding Officer, "Colonel Sheppard."

"How's the fort holding up, Lieutenant?"

"Quiet as a nursery. Michael's woken up, but Dr Beckett's preparing another injection for him as we speak," the lieutenant reported sourly.

"Good. How's the perimeter doing?"

"Nothing to report. Don't even think the rookie knows she's supposed to be reporting in every half hour."

Sheppard frowned, "Rookie?"

The lieutenant stopped walking, looking puzzled, "Sir, the one you ordered to replace Tane. Dr Weir said he needed some rest. Too many missions."

"And this replacement… is a she."

"Yes, Sir. You… did order it," he started looking doubtful.

The Colonel went to hit his radio, but paused; "Can you… describe this she?"

"About my height… Caucasian, I think she might have had black hair. Certainly got a smart mouth."

"I see. Well, _that _rings a bell."

"And you definitely ordered her to replace Tane, Sir?"

Colonel Sheppard sighed, "And I'm already regretting the instructions I gave her. You might want to keep an eye on that one, lieutenant… she's _very _new," he smiled tightly.

---

---

---

I decided to stay on the channel Amcotts was on, in case she came back. Did they overhear her, were they asking questions? "They're going to shoot me." I hit the little talk button on the radio, "Psst!"

Almost immediately there was an answer. I had to turn up the volume to hear it clearly, "Cax… I think you need to make a diversion. Away from the 'Gate. Try into the trees. I'm turning my radio back over to the other channel. Try not to get yourself shot. Amcotts out."

Trees. I ran uphill, the unpacked earth slipping under my feet. I was heading into denser and denser alien forest, trying to calculate just what kind of diversion Amcotts needed. She needed something away from the Stargate. So… that's must be where Michael was headed. _I need to get higher_. I was using my arms to haul myself up faster, grabbing branches and trunks, my feet scrabbling, until I got to a small rise.

I tried to reach into my vest for one of the grenades I had discovered before, I was getting brick-coloured dust all over me. Some got on my chin and started to burn. My hands were tingling.

I pulled the grenade out very carefully. It had a handle-and instructions! "Squeeze handle… pull pin, yadda, throw." _Gulp_. I may just be the first person from Atlantis to accidentally blow themselves up. First Earth-person to blow themselves up in this--to blow themselves up in an _alien galaxy_! Oh sweet mercy, the grandeur.

_Throw the damn grenade already_. I hurled it as far into the trees as I could. Away from the Alpha site, away from the 'Gate… and hopefully far away from anybody else in the woods. I crouched down and covered my head. The explosion was_loud_; I shouted at the sound and the little bits of bark stinging my neck.

My hands were red, even under the layer of brickish dust. I was flying down through the trees now, in a wide arc towards the 'Gate; hopefully ending up coming up behind the 'Gate without seeing _any_security details.

Parts of my neck and ears were still stinging where the hexagonal bark had hit. I tried itching my neck, once, before remembering that my hands were worse off than my neck and only succeeding in spreading the damn dust even more. I probably looked like some kind of Jersey cow by now.

I stopped and took off my vest, and jacket covered in dust as it was. I slipped the vest back on to hide the Kermit head on my t-shirt. I clicked the radio onto the army channel; I probably should have done that sooner. Sheppard was on the radio, "Bravo team, come in! Perimeter, what's your position?" _Don't answer_.

"Colonel Sheppard; the explosion was in the new kid's area. She's not responding to radio. Michael might've gotten to her. Request backup to check it out."

"Negative, lieutenant. We're concentrating our efforts on the 'Gate. Our priority is that no one gets off this planet. Michael's got Teyla. We're looking at a hostage situation and I can't have the perimeter all in one place." That was bad news on several levels; did he suspect?

I had to slow down to make less noise… and turn off the radio, as much as I wanted to keep listening. I had to creep past these guards without either of them seeing me. Sneaking past a couple of highly, highly trained soldiers… and I had six years of hide-and-seek experience on my back. Oh, I was kakking myself.

I peeked out between two trees. One Stargate, no guards. Heart hammering, I clambered quietly over the ledge, waiting for the inevitable shouts and whizzing bullets.

"Lower your weapon!" a man shouted. I slipped off the ledge and fell onto my knees. I rolled over and raised my arms, shaking. No one was there. "_I said, lower your weapon!_" I raised my own gun, slowly, shakily, and stalked towards the path. I crept up the path in a crouch, towards the voices, adrenalin making me light-headed and jittery. I tucked my cap lower and stood up straight, the black gun in my hands pointing ahead of me. The two soldiers working as security had their backs to me; facing two others. Michael and Teyla. Oh _Lord_.

I kept advancing, aiming the nose of the gun at Michael. One of the guards glanced at me but turned his attention back to the tense face-off. Michael was pointing a handgun at the guards, his aim switching between the two quickly. He looked as panicked as I _felt_. Teyla was watching Michael, shifting her feet slightly. She could probably take out Michael with one good kick while he was distracted. I was behind the guards now, standing between them, just out of their line of vision. One of them was still shouting at Michael to lower his weapon. I changed the way I was holding the gun. Teyla's attention was now on me, Michael's still on the guards… and I bashed one of them in the back of the head with my gun. I quickly swung my gun again like a cricket bat and hit the other square on the side of the head as he brought his gun up.

Everything went quiet. I dropped the gun in surprise of my success. I felt vaguely ill. God, I hope I haven't killed them. Damn it, and I have a stunner! Why didn't I use that?

"What?" Teyla breathed, astonished.

Michael was still pointing his gun at me, just as confused and perhaps a little bit more alarmed. I put my hands up, "Michael, you wouldn't mind pointing that somewhere else, would you?"

"What's going on?" he demanded, not lowering the gun.

" 'Just another one of them'. '_Just another one of them'._ Yeah, good call Michael!" I barked with sarcasm.

The gun lowered, but he still looked disbelieving, "You… you're a_soldier_?"

"No. I'm impersonating one," I replied with a touch of pride.

"Who are you?" Teyla asked, her voice shaky with anger.

I didn't know what to say to her. I was betraying her, definitely; "I'm sorry… Michael, you should get to the 'Gate fast. I don't think Sheppard's taking any diversions seriously. He'll be heading straight this way. So, you know, _go_."

The wraith-man nodded in thanks, giving me a brief look of gratitude and… respect. I could get used to that respect. He dug the gun into Teyla's side and began jogging towards the Stargate.

"And don't eat the broad!" I yelled after him. _And don't get yourself caught, or that'll be the end for you, too_. I crouched over the fallen guards, not sure what to do. Feel for a pulse? I'd never done that before. Should I really have let Michael take Teyla with him? Was she supposed to be some kind of light snack?

"Oh_crap_." If Michael had Teyla, Sheppard would not let Michael go. _Well that was dumb_.

I went to run for the 'Gate, but doubled back to move the bodies first. They didn't feel dead, but I didn't want to check their pulses. I didn't want to know. I didn't know what to do with them.

I heard the heavy footfalls of two people running down the path, coming too fast for me to duck for cover. I froze on the spot. Colonel Sheppard and Ronon thundered into view. For all my good luck; "Sir!"

Sheppard stopped at the sight of me, half covered in brick-red dust and the two downed Stargate guards. He looked livid, "What happened?"

"Michael came through, I think he has Teyla. I--I don't know what happened to the guards…" they ran straight past me. I followed as fast as cleaner-lady legs would let me.

We ran into the clearing; the Stargate filled with the strange blue liquid that was lighting the two silhouettes of Michael and Teyla. Ronon was already halfway across the clearing when they vanished into the event horizon, evaporating to nothing before Ronon could dive through after them.

Sheppard and Ronon would not let Teyla go that easily. I was stupid enough to overlook that. Then again, Michael had been just as stupid.

And now I was going to be fired. Fired, then shot at.

Ronon was handing some kind of rock to Sheppard… I slowed down; would I be able to quietly sneak out of this? Nope, he spotted me. I kept walking stiffly. _I'd give almost anything to be on the same planet as Michael right now_.

I wasn't sure which of the two looked more imposing. Sheppard looked like he _knew_. It's not like I was good at this. How could he know? He could have easily figured this out, _but he can't have_.

"You better give me a _damn _good reason why you're not at your post right now."

"I heard things over the radio; I was the closest to the 'Gate," I said quickly.

"Do you know which planet Michael dialled out to?" Sheppard demanded.

"No, I don't."

He held up the thin slate rock covered in symbols, "Would these be able to jog your memory? Any idea what order these are supposed to be in?"

"I didn't even know he knew 'Gate addresses!"

"You're not a soldier," Ronon growled, "What are you doing here?" He suddenly looked a lot more menacing. _The gig is up!_

"Did you plan this?" Sheppard asked, trying to keep his calm from slipping.

"No."_I hope soldiers can tell when you're being honest with them_.

"So what _did _you plan?"

"I-I don't know." Brain… failure… "I just didn't want you people to go and kill him!" I looked at the slate, did I really want to tell them where he went?

"Do you know which order these go in?" Colonel Sheppard asked again.

"I wasn't there at the time he dialled… Okay, I do know which order they are written in. I didn't want him taking Teyla; I think that's the most stupid thing he could have done." I was concentrating hard on the symbols. I pointed to them in order.

"How do we know you didn't make that up," Ronon questioned in a deadpan.

"It's the stroke thickness. The rock she was scribbling with wore down. You can tell where it chipped off, and where she smudged it… It seems right-handed, which is a good guess. Most people are. So she was going this way…" I drew in the air, "It has to be that order."

"How do we know--" Ronon started.

"I'm a bloody artist! I've worked with charcoal!" I exploded, taking several steps back from the over-imposing caveman. I looked to Sheppard for help, "I just didn't want you people to kill him. He didn't deserve that."

"I asked you to have breakfast with him, Miss Caxton; not to become his_best friend_."

"Well that was your mistake when you gave him human rights!"

"I'm not going to stand here _arguing _about morals when a member of my team is in danger. Are you sure about the order of these symbols?"

I stared at them again, "Yes. I am."

"Thank you. I know you had… good interests at heart, Caxton. Just go back to the Alpha Site, keep your head down and we will sort this out back on Atlantis. You got that?" I could tell it was trying his patience to be so calm and understanding.

"Don't shoot him," I said.

"Look, just go back to the camp, alright?"

"Sir!" Tane's friend was bounding towards the 'Gate, with what seemed like a whole battalion of armed men following behind. He seemed almost relieved to see me, covered in stinging tree-pollen as I was. "Glad you're alright, rookie."

"_Arc_, here, is heading back to the site to check out security. Isn't that right, Arc?"

"Yes sir…" I reluctantly turned and drifted back towards the path. It was over, then. My life in Pegasus. Michael's life; the one person that showed me any respect.

I heard them fire up the Stargate. They all looked like a grey bunch of silhouettes charging off into the blue. Sheppard must have gone in first… Being Sheppard. Tane's friend seemed to be bringing up the rear. By the way his cap was pointing, he could have been looking straight at me.

But he, too, vanished into thin air.

I stood still, thinking. I turned on my radio. Clicking it slowly over to the medical channel, because that's where she'd be listening; "Amcotts… are you there?"

Silence. "…Yes, I'm here." She knew it was me, I could hear it.

"Colonel Sheppard ordered me back to the site. The rest of them have gone after Michael and Teyla."

The clearing around the Stargate seemed void. Empty. Michael-less. "Amcotts?"

"Yeah?"

"Isn't it funny… what we would do for our heroes? I mean, the people we look up to. You know. …Would you throw your life away, Amcotts?"

"Cax, we need you back at the site."

"No you don't." She probably did argue with me, but I dropped the radio on the ground. _Don't try and stop me now_, I thought,_because it wouldn't be that hard_. They had left the slate sitting by the dialling device. I had the address to the planet they were on.

I did _not _believe I was below them. I could do this, no problem. At least there was one other person in Pegasus who shared my philosophy.

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A/N: I would have gone to the Auckland (New Zealand) Armageddon Pulp Expo in October, but I have no money. Conner Trinneer AND Joe Flannigan AND Christopher Judge. I can't believe I missed that!


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